Do Or Die
by Pekenota14
Summary: Natasha and Clint are sent undercover, but she doesn't know all the details of the mission. She's just Clint's back-up as he has to kill Ivan Petrovitch, her former handler in Russia. For Clint, it's literally a 'Do or die' mission. (Clint/Natasha romance, rated T for language, some violence and adult content) (chapter 3 M-rated)
1. Chapter 1

Hill marched into the office. "Sir, we've got a problem."

Fury continued flipping through pages of case files, unfazed. "We have problems every day Agent Hill," he responded without looking up.

"But this one is different. It's…" Hill struggled to come up with an answer, "it's major, Sir."

"How major?" Fury asked, shifting his gaze to her.

"We've lost track of the deep-covered Agent Dür," Hill replied.

Fury sighed and got up. The two made their way to the monitor so that the Director could take a look on the situation.

"What's our move?" Hill asked.

"We send another agent in to finish the mission and get Dür before he gets killed." Fury made his way out, as he spoke. "Strike Team Delta, I want them in my office ASAP."

"Yes, Sir." Hill said, already contacting Natasha and Clint and arranging covert identities for them.

* * *

In less than an hour, Barton and Romanoff were standing before Fury, waiting to hear about their mission. Agent Hill entered the room as well, providing the Director all the documents that they had created for Clint and Natasha's covert IDs and case intel. "The mission is simple, but it will be hard to put into action," Fury informed. "Agent Hill, will you take Agent Romanoff?" Feeling Natasha's inquisitive and demanding look, Fury explained, "Agent Barton will later brief you on the mission. You need some visual modifications."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look, but she left with Hill anyways. Fury placed a case file in front of Clint. Clint opened it and started reading. He was still gathering the more important details of the file when Fury slid his new ID over his desk. "You'll go undercover to a bar named Cavern as Salvador Barsetti, a Red Brigade member. Your job is to retrieve Agent Dür and eliminate our target. Everything else you need to know about this mission is in the file."

"And Natasha's cover?" Barton questioned.

"Back-up only, bystander in the bar."

Clint froze. The information he had read so far wasn't good. He had too many tasks for this mission and Natasha was just his back-up. He got up and was ready to leave when Fury stopped him. "Meet with Agent Hill. She'll provide you further things for your mission. I'm sure you'll quickly figure out what and what not to tell to Agent Romanoff." Clint nodded and walked out.

* * *

"So," Natasha spoke. "What's our mission?"

Clint only recognized her by the voice because when he turned around, he found a completely different person standing there. Natasha had turned into a brunette. Her hair was soft and delicate and fell perfectly around her shoulders. Her eyes, now brown due to the contact lenses, were wide as she looked at him. Clint was mesmerized; he looked at her as if it was his first time seeing her. Her skin was glowing and gave off a soft, smooth look. He ran his eyes over her shoulders, legs, neck, collarbone, pushed up breasts, every inch of her exposed body; everything that was exposed to his eyes was tempting. Her heels were black and her body was only covered in a red, strapless dress. His eyes skimmed down her thin, fit body, each and every one of her curves very well accentuated. As his eyes make their way up one last time, he admired her long, perfect legs.

"Clint!" She snapped at him, pulling him out of his trance.

Clint shook his head and cleared his throat, diverting his look away from her hot red fleshy lips, painted with a provocative red lipstick. "Yeah, you were saying?"

Natasha huffed. "The mission, tell me about it."

"Oh no big deal, just some drug dealers and stuff like that," he lied in an unconvincing tone. He wouldn't have believed himself if he had been told that.

She rolled her eyes and tried to grab the folder he was holding. "Can I read it?"

He pulled it away from her and stuttered a little, trying to make up an excuse. "Why won't you talk with Fury so he can brief you about your part? You can complain to him about your…part…"

"Agent Barton." Hill's voice came out loudly. Clint couldn't have asked for a better timing. "Come with me for a minute."

"Sure," he replied, jumping up immediately. Natasha eyed him weirdly, obviously not buying anything that was happening.

As he walked after Hill, his eyes fixed on Natasha's butt. He was so distracted that he only noticed Hill had stopped when he bumped into her back. "Sorry," he said, embarrassed.

Hill threw a tuxedo with a matching black shirt, shiny polished blucher shoes and a blue tie at him. She gestured for him to get in one of the rooms so he could dress. He stepped out squirming, feeling like a caged bird. He was a heartthrob though and if Natasha could see him right now, she would be speechless. Clint was the kind of guy who could be an adorable gentleman and a sexy badass in a tuxedo at the same time; he just doesn't realize it.

Hill beckoned him over. "We've got a few more things for you, Agent," she told him as she started leading him over to a table.

He strolled after her again. There was a wristwatch, some car key, and an aluminum briefcase on the table.

"A Rolex?" He mumbled astonished, putting on the wristwatch. Holding the car keys in his hand, he looked at it and noticed the car's brand. "And a Maserati?"

Hill opened the briefcase, adding, "And 1000 dollars."

"I thought I was just going to a bar."

"If your meeting with Agent Dür is successful, he'll put you in a Texas Hold 'em game with your target. That's how you're supposed to make the deal."

"Alright," he said nodding his head. "And I don't like guns that much, but should I get one?"

"You'll be searched and confiscated of all weapons you carry. There's no point in giving you any. You've got a room booked in the Plaza Hotel. That will be all, Agent."

"If I break or scratch anything, it's gonna come out of my paycheck, right?" He asked, suspicious. The Agency rarely gave him such nice, expensive luxuries.

"Of course, Agent Barton," Hill replied with a sly smile playing on her lips.

Clint nodded, slipped the car key in his pocket, grabbed the briefcase and the case folder, and walked out of S.H.I.E.L.D's corridors. Natasha had already left for the Cavern. It was their method; the back-up always would arrive first and inspected the place before the other got there. He'd be going to the hotel first to read the case file thoroughly. Not missing the chance to break traffic rules in the Maserati, Clint tore through the town and got to the hotel in no time.

* * *

When Clint entered the room, night had settled over the city a while ago. He dropped the briefcase on the bed and walked to the window. He looked down at the city's movement before closing the drapes. He sat on the bed and opened the case file. He read 'Agent-of-influence – Agent Benjamin Dür posing as Maxwell Lagounov, a bodyguard'. There was no picture of the Agent, but his name rang a bell. He quickly found the lines he'd have to say to Dür. It consisted of a question: 'Who's got the ball?', Dür would ask him, to which Clint would reply 'It isn't in my pocket.'.

The next pages of the file were Dür's reports from the time he had been undercover. It had been eleven months, Clint realized. Still, he skipped the next pages; they weren't worth reading. He wanted to know who the target was. He didn't recognize many of the names he read. Then he saw the name that really struck home: Ivan Petrovitch, Natasha's handler and father figure from the time she was in Russia and the Red Room era. This was the man responsible for everything Natasha went through. Suddenly, Clint smirked wickedly when he realized he was the target. He was going to kill Ivan Petrovitch. Now he understood what Fury meant when he told him that he would know "what and what not to tell" Natasha. He'd have to continue lying to her, for the sake of her life.

Clint threw the folder into the small trash can and disabled the fire alarm of the room. Then he set a small fire inside the trash can, burning the folder. As it burned, he stored the briefcase in the vault of the bedroom and walked to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"You're Salvador Barsetti." He repeated the phrase over and over again.

Then he took a deep breath before walking out and driving to the Cavern.

* * *

**I'm already working on the second chapter, but that doesn't mean you should keep the reviews to yourselves!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was a little disappointed by the lack of reviews, but I've got followers, so I got that going for me...**

* * *

Clint felt like king of the city, driving around in the Maserati. He drove to the bar with a decant neon sign saying _Cavern_ in red letters. The bar had two entrances that were separated by a protruding brick wall. He parked the car nearby and walked out, buttoning his coat and straightening his attire. When Natasha looked up, she saw Clint entering and sighed quietly. He walked with an air of arrogance surrounding him that would make any guy want to beat him up. She could already predict that he was not going to be light since the majority of the people in the room were Russian bullies.

There were four small steps that led to the bar. The smell of cigarettes and booze was in the air as Clint looked around, quickly inspecting the place. On his left there was a counter with five stools. Natasha was sitting in one of them having a drink. On the right side, three tattooed, burly men accompanied by some women were smoking and drinking bottles of vodka. In the middle of the bar five men, all seemingly Russian, surrounded a pool table. In front of him was a long, dark hall that presumably led to Petrovitch's private room. Standing at the entrance of the hall were two men. Both had a firm stance with arms behind their back and legs slightly parted, dressed in a black tuxedo.

One of them was tall and brunette. Clint looked at him a little longer. _That may be Dür_ he thought. The two locked eyes and Clint thought he vaguely recognized him, but wasn't necessarily convinced. He needed a way to talk with him and confirm it was Dür.

He needed a drink first before he did that. He walked to the counter. "Vodka," He said to the man behind the counter. "Or whatever the lady's drinking," he added, looking at Natasha.

"I'll have another tonic, please," Natasha said to the bartender.

Clint turned to her. "This is no place for a lady like you to be," he said, sitting down on the stool beside her.

"I know," she answered, leaning closer to his mouth, "but work is work, right?"

"True, but what kind of work someone could like you have to be here?"

Natasha smirked and didn't give him a response. She shifted in her seat and grabbed the tonic glass the bartender placed beside her.

"So," Clint began before stopping to drink his tonic shot in a single gulp. "Are you taken or do I still have a chance?"

"Well aren't you quick," she giggled. "And no, I'm not taken."

He got up from his seat and whispered in her ear. "I need to pick up a fight. A little help would be nice." Natasha slapped him so hard and loudly in the face that some men just hissed an "ooh". Clint massaged his cheek, her slap had really hurt. Still, he leaned over again. "Now fake interest in another guy. I'll take it from there."

He walked to the pool table and stood there, watching the others playing with his arms folded over his chest. A small smile played on his lips when they mumbled some things in Russian, clearly mocking him. In the corner of his eye he spied Natasha approaching another man. She was a master in persuading them and it didn't take long for the guy to be charmed by her, groping her ass. Clint had to admit that upset him a little. He walked over to the guy and gave him a push.

"She was talking to me," he snapped at him.

"_Was_," the man emphasized. "She's talking to me now, tough guy. Now go take a walk."

Natasha pretended to be legitimately scared at the eminence of the two starting a fight proving that she was, indeed, the best actress especially when it came to feigning fear.

"Make me!" Clint dared, raising his voice.

The Russian grabbed Clint's coat lapel and tossed him onto the floor, kicking him in the stomach when he fell. When he attempted to kick him again, Clint grabbed his other leg, making him fall on his back and smash his head on the floor. Quickly, Clint leaned over the Russian and punched him in the nose, not drawing any blood like he had hoped. Yet, when he was punched, his nose immediately bled. The others watched amused and didn't even consider of interfering. They knew Clint wasn't going to win.

But Clint didn't give up, even when the Russian pressed his foot on his ribcage and tossed him to the side making him slide on the floor. Clint was breathing heavily, trying to get up when he saw the man walking towards him. The Russian lifted him up with only one hand, squeezing his throat.

"Want to take a walk now?" He asked, pressing Clint against the hard brick wall.

Dür walked over to them and patted the Russian to let go of Clint. "Why don't we take this talking outside, gentlemen?"

As Natasha watched the two head down the hall, she figured it would probably be best for her to walk outside too and be ready to help Clint if he needed back-up. A third guy came to flirt with her, giving her the perfect chance to leave without arousing suspicion. She followed them out and stood by the corner attentively listening to everything around her.

Clint and the Russian walked along the dark hall Clint had seen earlier. Dür forced them to leave through the backdoor at the end of that passage, but its path turned right, continuing down a dark hallway. As soon as the door closed, Dür threw them against the wall and started beating the two of them. He started kicking and kneeing the two, initially just in the legs, but eventually their legs gave out, and they ended up being kicked in the chest.

When it got hard for them to breath, the two men collapsed on the floor. Dür gathered up his strength kicked the Russian's in chin, making his head smash back in the all. The Russian tumbled to the ground, unconscious, just like Dür wanted. Dür grabbed Clint by the tie, pulling him to his feet. "Who's got the ball?" He asked.

"It's isn't in my pocket," Clint answered and watched Dür take a deep, relieved breath.

"What do you need?"

"To meet with Petrovitch, make him a deal and get you out of here."

"I'll talk with him. Who are you?" He asked, wanting to know his cover story.

"Salvador Barsetti, Red Brigade."

Dür nodded and then asked him. "Why did Fury sign _her_ for this mission? It's suicidal."

"She's my partner, we are assigned missions together," Clint said, getting defensive of Natasha.

"Well, then don't blow your chance. I've been here for eleven months and the moment I tried to wipe him out, I was almost compromised," Dür warned. He tightened his grip on Clint's tie, eyes boring into his.

"I won't," Clint reassured him. Satisfied, Dür let go of Clint and went back to the bar.

Clint got up with a lot of pain and groaning and staggered out of the alley. He saw Natasha standing there. He grinned at her weakly. "Hey pretty lady, I'm a little short on money. Can we share a cab?"

She rolled her eyes. "You've got a nice car over there." She tilted her head in the direction of the Maserati. Stretching her hand, she demanded, "Give me the keys." He handed her the keys and got in the passenger seat feeling miserable as Natasha took the wheel. "Where's your gun?" She asked.

"I'm not carrying one. They'd search me anyways. There's no point in having one. Drive to The Plaza, I'm staying there."

* * *

**Ok, next chapter is M-rated but I won't be changing the story's rating just because of one chapter. Those who are not comfortable reading such things, don't come up for the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A bucket full of thanks to Gaga4Jeyna; she's my amazing beta reader. If it was that that was bothering you about my story, there you go, I got someone to correct what I write!**

**This chapter is M-rated, but I won't be changing the story's rating just because of this one chapter. If you're not comfortable reading M-rated content, please scroll down until the next break like. **

* * *

As soon as they entered the room, Clint dropped his jacket on the floor, not caring where it fell and wrapped his arms around Natasha, pulling her closer.

She looked up at him with a small smile playing on her lips. "You really think you're going to get me looking all bloody like that?"

"Isn't it sexy?" He asked with blood dripping down to his lips.

Natasha reached up and wiped off some of the blood running down the side of his face. "If I were a vampire," she whispered in a low voice, "I'd suck that blood. But as I'm not, I'll just suck y-"

"Hey, whoa there!" His eyes widened, looking at her. He had to admit he was frankly impressed.

She chuckled lightly, "This is going to be a fun night."

She led him to the bathroom so she could fix his nose that was dripping thick blood. He leaned her against the sink as she tried to stop the bleeding with a wet towel.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name yet."

"Eve. Eve Bishop," she replied, giving her alias name.

"Ooh, Eve…isn't she the one that discovered the sin?"

She looked up at him, biting her lip as her hands hovered over his chest. "I think I'll commit some sins today too," Clint murmured as he leaned towards to her.

"Adam and Eve didn't commit_ those_ kinds of sins!"

Clint pressed his body closer to hers. "But my name isn't Adam." He had to admit every place he got kicked in burned and his head felt like it was bursting, but he wasn't going to let that ruin their night.

"As I see you're a fan of sins," Natasha spoke as he caught her lower lip between his lips, "do you have a favorite?"

"I'm a fan of all seven! I love gluttony," he said making his way down and sucking her neck. "I'm such a glutton. And I'm greedy, I don't like to share." He backed her up and pressed her against the wall.

As he desperately looking for the dress zipper on her back, she shuttered. "Ah, but lust is your favorite."

"Maybe," He teased. His voice came out muffled as he delivered kisses to her skin, trailing between her breasts. "Wrath, though…"

Clint pushed them out of the bathroom and into the doorframe of the bedroom.

Natasha undid his tie rapidly and stripped his shirt off. He looked offended. "What? You think you're the only one who gets to enjoy this?" She teased.

"Ok, fair enough," He took a step back into the bedroom and stretched his arms out, waiting for her to take his pants off too. "Do whatever you wanna do."

"Not so fast!" She threw herself over him and the two fell onto floor.

"Where were we? Right, wrath," Clint spoke between some moans. "You seem to have some in you."

"Aw did I hurt you, baby doll?" Natasha chuckled.

"I was beaten today," he pouted.

"Oh, poor you," she mocked, placing a kiss on his lips. "Come, get up then."

"I'm fine here."

"Lazy ass," She murmured while unbuckling his belt. Her eyes widened when her eyes landed on his _already_ noticeable bulge. She left him almost naked. As she was about to stroke him, he grabbed her by her wrists and got up in a flash, leaning her against the wall again. She pouted. "You're an envious bastard."

He kissed her neck, wetting her with his tongue as he unzipped her dress. "I know," he murmured as he nuzzled her neck.

As soon as her dress fell to her feet, his attention turned to her breasts. He hadn't even realized that she had gotten rid of her heels. She moaned every time he tortuously nibbled her. Natasha dug her nails into his back and bit her lip as he ran his tongue over her. He picked her up and sat her on top of the small table next to them. He lay down on top of her and slid his hand inside her panties. He stroked her with his thumb as she tried to muffle her moans, digging her nails harder into his back, causing him to nibble her earlobe.

"Not there…" She said holding back a moan, knowing that if he continued, she'd feel weak.

"Oh yes there," he said teasingly, nibbling her earlobe as she enlaced her legs around his waist.

He slid off her panties as she took off his boxers. She couldn't take it anymore. "Do it," she whispered in his ear.

He got her message and entered her. He didn't move for a few seconds so they could adapt to one another's shapes. Not wanting to hurt her, he slowly started moving, but quickly couldn't take it anymore. The pain from the beating was starting to get to him and he was losing his strength from supporting her weight as she completely wrapped around him. Clint knew he wouldn't last much longer but lucky for him, she hit her peak and he let himself go too.

It had been a while since either of them had felt this way. Her legs lost their strength and slowly slid off of him. She didn't even have strength to breathe properly. Clint started slowing down the rhythm and then stopped and pulled out of her. His legs weakened too and he pressed his body against hers and she held his weight leaning back on the table as the two gathered their energy. They both had a thin layer of sweat running down their bodies. He leaned his forehead onto hers, allowing their breaths to mix together.

"Gotta tell you something…" She spoke between breaths.

"I know. It was the best you've ever had."

"Arrogant bastard," she said rolling her eyes. "Amazing how you actually committed all seven sins."

Clint pressed his face against her neck. "I can still think of an eighth one," he mumbled.

He picked her up in his arms and laid her over the bed. The pain was gone now, but Natasha stared at his chest bruising chest. "You're crazy," she whispered.

She bit her lip when he cupped her face and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Crazy for you, yes. I'm insane."

He leaned over and slowly kissed her. What started as a slow kiss soon turned crushing; sating the longing the two were feeling. "You sure you can do this?" She asked between kisses.

"You don't know me," he told her, gazing into her eyes.

Natasha laughed a quick, short laugh. When she looked at his gaze, it made her feel vulnerable. She couldn't look in his eyes without feeling her heart climb up her throat; it made her heart melt and ache. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she raised her head, seeking for his lips. They dove into the kiss, losing themselves in the slow, lasting kiss that seemed to go on for hours. They poured all of their feelings into the kiss, never stopping for a breath.

Clint rolled over on the bed and she straddled his lap. He ran his eyes over every inch of her. She shifted uncomfortably, knowing that he was staring at every little detail of her naked body. It wasn't anything that hadn't happened before, but she could still feel a nervousness tingling inside.

"You're beautiful." Clint told her in a low voice. He managed to make her blush with two words.

He sat up, trailing kisses up her neck to her lips. Their noses touched and they stroked each other's bodies. Natasha wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply, gently grabbing a handful of his hair in her hand. "I want you," she whispered into his mouth.

Clint let himself fall back into bed but she stayed in the same position, giving him a begging look. She lay on her side next to him and he rolled on top of her, kissing her body in that slow, delicious way that only he knew she liked. He made her yearn for more. Nobody had ever given her pleasure the way he did. He entered her. Her mind wanted him to speed up the thrusts, but she kept the thought to herself. Feeling him go in and out of her in such a slow way fulfilled her more than anything else. The feeling of his mouth on her with their hand traveling over each other's bodies was better than reaching her climax faster. She let out a muffled groan in a breath and he reached his too, but he didn't leave her just yet. He stopped and stayed inside of her, quietly looking at her. The heat quickly emanated from their bodies after another done act. When they both caught their breaths, he slowly pulled out of her.

Clint groaned as he moved to lie next to her. Every part of him was aching now. Natasha crawled closer to him, resting her head on his chest. He placed a kiss on the top of her head as her fingers caressed his naked chest. Tired, they soon fell into a deep, sound sleep.

* * *

Waking up at dawn, Clint realized he was sleeping alone. Natasha had gone already, but had left him a something on the bedside table: her combat knife and a note. Clint stretched his arm with a groan. He picked up the note and read: "_My partner would never go anywhere without a weapon._" He smiled, running his finger along the razor sharp blade that Natasha had carefully sharpened. He wasn't very skilled with a knife, but he was sure it'd be useful when he got into a fight. Getting up from bed, he looked in the mirror and saw that his torso and face were covered in bruises. He painfully dragged his battered body to the bathroom to shower and put on some of the clean clothes that S.H.I.E.L.D. had left for him in the closet.

When Clint made his way downstairs, he found Dür sitting in one of the armchairs reading the newspaper. He sat on the armchair behind him as Dür informed him, "Aunt Marie expects you tonight. Don't be late; you know she hates it, especially when you appear at midnight. Did you get her a present?"

"Yeah, Uncle Nick lent me some money. Don't worry; I'll be there on time."

Clint got up and figured since the game wouldn't start until midnight, he'd spend the day filling his report to S.H.I.E.L.D. and rest to his aching body. While he left, Dür remained in his seat with his legs crossed, reading the newspaper.

* * *

**So, this was one more chapter. If you like it give it a review and please mention the amazing correcting job my beta reader did. She deserves it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to my beta reader, who doesn't get tired of correcting me and teaching me. She helps me improve and get better, and I love to learn.**

**Also, a shout out to Blackheart Dracon for the Russian sentences translation.**

**Hope you guys enjoy. ^_^**

* * *

Clint buttoned up his jacket and tightened his grip on the briefcase. Entering the Cavern, he put on a scornful smirk as the others watched him, still remembering the beating he had taken the night before. Looking him over, their chuckles stopped when they realized he was holding a briefcase. He was here to do business with Petrovitch. Picking up a fight with him may have not been the smartest idea. Clint crossed the bar and didn't even look at Natasha who was sitting at the same stool as yesterday. He stopped before Dür and the other bodyguard. Unfortunately, it was the other guard who escorted him to Petrovitch's office instead of Dür.

They walked along the dark hall, turning right after passing the backdoor. The hall wasn't too long and Clint quickly saw the partially shut door. With a single hand gesture, the bodyguard ordered Clint to stay a little behind, while he popped his head inside the room and said, "Шеф, Барсетти здесь." (Boss, Barsetti is here.)

"Обыщите его и после этого впустите внутрь," Petrovitch answered. (**Search him and send him in.**)

The bodyguard nodded slightly and closed the door again before turning his attention to Clint. He told him to put the briefcase on the floor and spread his arms and legs. With a small gesture, he told him to unbutton his jacket as well, to make sure he wasn't keeping any guns. As the guard groped him in the search for any weapons, Clint kept the combat knife in his left hand, the blade tucked inside his shirt sleeve. He made sure to keep the palm of his hands turned back so the man wouldn't notice the knife in his hand. When the bodyguard checked his left arm, Clint swiftly changed the knife from one hand to the other behind his back. Everything went well and the guard didn't find the knife. The bodyguard signaled him to enter and left. Clint concealed the knife in the jacket's inner pocket and buttoned it up again. Grabbing the briefcase, he entered the room.

Clint quickly surveyed the tiny, poorly lit room. There was only a gaming table, a chair strategically placed on the left side of the room, and a single lamp swinging slightly from the ceiling. When Clint looked over, he backed up and almost tripped over his own feet when he saw the numerous torture instruments placed on a small table. Looking at the gaming table again, he saw three men sitting there and fourth chair which was saved for him. Petrovitch sat at the head of the table. His face was aged and wrinkled and the moustache didn't help at all. He was pale as a sheet, not even the blue suit seemed to brighten up his face. He had a serious disposition and his brown eyes gazed at him intensely. Clint couldn't understand why. There was another bodyguard standing loyally beside Petrovitch.

"Take a seat." Petrovitch told him, pointing to the chair. Clint sat down, putting the briefcase on the floor, right next to his chair. "Allow me to introduce you." He pointed to the man on his right. "This is Mathias Brahms and this," he pointed to the woman on his left "is Juliette Harden. Mr. Brahms, Ms. Harden, this is Salvador Barsetti, Red Brigade."

The man, whom Clint realized was German, was an intimidating person with hazel eyes filled with an insatiable desire to win and conquer. The woman, a typical British, had very bright blue eyes, blonde, curly hair, and seemed to be just another pretty face, but Clint isn't fooled by pretty faces. He was ready for anything Juliette would play against him; she'd be just like Natasha, except for the fact that he inevitability falls for Natasha every time.

"We play until there's a loser," Petrovitch explained to Clint as he was the new arrival. "I don't do business with losers. It's like betting on a horse. You have to watch it run first before you bet on it. If the horse is bad, we put it down, easy as that. Shall we begin?"

Clint loosened his body and nodded. He picked up his game chips and his two cards. Apparently the German Brahms was already a regular at the gaming table, given the ease he had speaking with Petrovitch. The game went smoothly until Petrovitch turned to his bodyguard. "Александр, мое оружие." (**Alexander, my gun.**)

The loud gunshot could be heard from the main room of the bar. Natasha turned her eyes to Dür. He assured her with a simple and discreet nod that everything was fine. He figured it had been the German who was shot because he had been trying to fool Petrovitch for a long time.

Clint watched in shock as Brahms immediately dropped dead in his chair with a bullet through his skull.

"Благодарюю." (**Thank you.**) Petrovitch said returning the gun to his guard. He then turned to Clint who was astonished at the scene, wiping some blood off his face. "I don't play with losers and I definitely don't play with cheaters. Александр, раздай карты снова." (**Alexander, deal the cards again.**)

The burly bodyguard did as his boss ordered him.

The British woman had already revealed her business deal to Petrovitch, leaving Clint the only one who still had to do so. "And you, Sal? May I call you Sal?" Clint only nodded and Petrovitch continued. "What kind of business proposition do you have that would appeal to me?"

"You know what we do in the Red Brigade."

"Oh yes! Your kidnappings are brilliant, I must say. I honestly confess that I've thought of requesting your services. There's someone I've been looking for for a long time."

"We came across an interesting…captive. I believe you'll give anything in exchange of this captive."

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table Petrovitch asked, "And who would that be?"

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova." Clint watched the man's expression change completely. His eyes darkened and he eyed Clint gravely. Petrovitch whispered something to his bodyguard. After the guard left, Clint spoke again. "It's her. The one you've been looking for, right?"

"Remind me your name again."

Clint frowned, but said, "Salvador Barsetti."

"Oh yes…" Petrovitch nodded his head. "Clint Barton, that's your name." His bodyguard was back, bringing the other one that had escorted Clint to that room with him. With a nod, the two grabbed Clint and dragged him to the chair that sat in the left of the room. Petrovitch turned to Juliette. "Ms. Harden, it's always my pleasure doing business with you. Gather your winnings and come back tomorrow."

Juliette grabbed all the money on the table and even took Clint's briefcase. She left with a despicable smirk, glancing at Clint over her shoulder.

Dür, seeing her leaving figured that Clint's deal had been a success and in a matter of minutes he'd be out too. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Clint was now tied up, hands behind his back and ankles tightly tied to the legs of the chair. "Держите его в тепле, парни. Снаружи холодно," Petrovitch ordered, watching him get beaten. (**Keep him warm, boys. It's cold outside.**)

Clint took kicks to the chin that made his teeth clashed and bite his tongue. He shifted slightly to the side, making it worse when he exposed the side of his chest to the kicks and punches. He was far from being recovered from last night's beating, and now he had to deal with this one. Clint's eyes were burning from the punches in the face and he couldn't keep them open anymore. One of the guards grabbed a brass knuckle, causing the punches hurt even more. Clint's nose and lips were bleeding profusely, and blood dripped down his face from a gash on his brow.

Petrovitch dragged a chair over and sat across from Clint. The beatings stopped for a moment, allowing him to take a few breaths. Then, Petrovitch began to talk. "I know all about you, Mr. Barton. I've been tracking Natalia long enough to know everything that is going on in her life. Did you come to finish me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Clint snarled.

Petrovitch got up from his chair and pulled out a knife. Grabbing a hand full of Clint's hair, he tilted his head back and pressed the blade against his Adam's apple. Clint gasped and swallowed, feeling his blood slide down his throat. "Let's see who finishes whom." Letting go of Clint, Petrovitch kicked his own chair back and yelled, "I'll let you live if you tell me where she is."

"Then this is going to be a fun night," Clint retorted.

The two guards started beating up Clint again. Petrovitch leisurely lit up a cigar and kept asking as he blew out the smoke, "Will you tell me, now?"

"No." Clint bravely kept fighting back the feeling of wanting to give up. Natasha's life depended on him and he would not let her down. He kept hoping that Dür would walk in that door and help him out.

Soon Petrovitch's bodyguards grew tired. Clint hadn't given up, but it didn't mean he wasn't past his breaking point. He was only human and he couldn't take this for much longer. But Petrovitch wasn't satisfied. As his two men rested he put his burning cigar under Clint's eye. Clint squirmed and groaned intensely, tugging his wrists in an attempt to break loose, but ended up only giving himself abrasions.

He couldn't fully expand his chest, so he was taking slow, short breaths, barely breathing. His chest was burning and his heart was pounding too fast in his ribcage. His face dripped blood, the taste of it lingering in his mouth. All he could do was silently whimper in pain. Petrovitch walked to the table and pondered which instrument to bring and torture him with. He ended up choosing a massive, thick, metal rod. One blow to the chest made Clint cry out loudly. The ribs that were slightly cracked, were now broken. Petrovitch raised the rod in the air again, this time hitting Clint in the right leg. The yell that escaped Clint's lips was louder and extra painful as his ribcage hurt too. He could hear the raw sound of his leg breaking.

Natasha heard his scream as well. Despite Dür's attempt to keep her out, she ran down the hall, forcing him to run after her. The door opened, and Petrovitch paused, holding the metal rod in his hands. He turned around. "Наталья…" (**Natalia…**)

* * *

**I know I was mean to Clint and to you**


	5. Chapter 5

**Beta reader needed her time, I needed my time, so sorry I'm late on the update. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

_Natasha heard his scream as well. Despite Dür's attempt to keep her out, she ran down the hall, forcing him to run after her. The door opened, and Petrovitch paused, holding the metal rod in his hands. He turned around. "__Наталья__…" (Natalia…)_

That was a name she hadn't heard in a long time. That was also a face she hadn't seen in a long time. Natasha stopped, feeling like her feet were glued to the concrete floor. Unable to move, she carefully looked the man over, remembering every trace of Ivan's face. Dür stood at the door, hand placed over his gun, appearing to be there to protect Petrovitch when he was, in reality, waiting for the best moment to put a bullet through his head. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent knew that the bodyguards would kill him right after the shot, but at least he'd get the job done.

"I didn't tell you," Clint's faint voice broke through the silence, but Natasha hadn't seen him yet. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes followed the direction of Clint's voice and she saw her partner bruised and battered, barely holding on to consciousness. At the sight of Clint, Natasha felt like someone was squeezing the life out of her heart.

"What have you done to him?" Natasha Ivan weakly. Kneeling in front of Clint, she gently took his face in her hands. She couldn't afford to be sentimental now, but seeing Clint in such abused conditions wasn't easy.

"The jacket…" Clint rasped, hinting for her to take out the combat knife in his jacket, but Natasha didn't do anything.

Ivan had turned into a completely different man. His voice now soothing as he spoke to Natasha. "Наталья, посмотри на него, Потом посмотри на меня. Он слаб и бесполезен." (**Natalia, look at him and look at me. He's worthless, weak.**) Upon hearing those words, Natasha stood up again and looked at Ivan. He continued speaking. "Он просто влюбленный до одури романтик. Я - нечто гораздо большее, чем он." (**He's a pathetic man who's in love. I'm much more than that.**)

Natasha took a step forward. "Иван, вам следовало бы оставаться там, где ваше настоящее место." (**You should have stayed where you belong, Ivan.**)

Once again, she couldn't do anything. Natasha was stuck, head spinning too fast to think of a plan. She knew she was overthinking, but she couldn't do anything about it.

"The jacket…" Clint reminded her again. His eyelids batted slower each time and his breathing had turned into wheezes.

Clint wanted to encourage her, but he couldn't. His heart was climbing to his throat, wrapping itself tightly around his vocal cords. Everything was blurry now; there were no clear sounds, just a cacophony of voices. He could utter sounds, but that's all they just were, sounds. Groans, moans of pain, attempts to form words. His head was swimming in his thoughts until he realized Natasha was not going to kill Ivan.

Dür realized the same. Pulling out of his gun, Dür shot the two bodyguards. Not expecting the shots, they didn't react and fell to the floor. Petrovitch, on the other hand, reacted very quickly. He turned around and threw his knife, and then turned back to faced Natasha, undaunted and serene. Dür gasped and held his breath momentarily. He felt the cold blade warming up inside of him. Thick, hot blood gushed out very slowly. And then the pain kicked in. Dür leaned back against the wall behind him and slowly slid down, falling to the floor. He was still gripping the gun in one hand and had the other to his chest. He tried his best to keep an emotionless face and appear dead so Petrovitch wouldn't kick the gun away from him. However, the pain soon migrated to the muscles around the knife. The blood was now thinner and hotter than before, dripping down his fingers.

"Наталья," Ivan began, stroking Natasha's cheek with his thumb, "забыть его. Возвращайтесь со мной." (**Natalia, forget him. Come back with me.**)

A loud gunshot sounded and Ivan fell against Natasha. She held his dead body for a second, but then let him drop to the floor. When she raised her eyes, she saw Dür still wielding the gun, panting. She rushed to help him, but he fell on his side before she could reach him.

"It's okay…" He murmured as she pressed his wound. "Agent Barton needs you more. Go…" Dür stopped breathing and his eyes slowly glassed over.

Quickly getting up and looking back at Clint, Natasha knew they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon or it would be Clint's denouement too. She untied him quickly, but Clint avoided looking at her. Natasha had chosen to help everyone in that room before him. She wasn't able to kill Ivan to save him and it hurt. Sure he understood she was confused, but it still hurt. In fact, he was so upset that he was unconsciously trying to brush her off, but he was too weak.

Wrapping her arms around his hip, Natasha helped him lie down on the ground. Quickly searching Dür's body, Natasha snatched his phone and alerted S.H.I.E.L.D. of their current location and situation.

It was only a matter of waiting now. Soon, they'd be rescued by the nearest team. Clint started coughing. Natasha sat on the floor next to him and raised his head, helping him spit out the blood he was choking on.

"Come on, Clint," she told him, running her fingers through his hair. "Keep holding on," she said, placing her hand on top of his chest, "you're gonna be okay."

Natasha knew that Clint liked it when she held him close when he is in pain, so she pulled his head to her lap and even though it wasn't the best moment, she smiled. Clint's life depended on her and she knew had already let him down, thankful that he was alive.

Clint mumbled something she couldn't understand and looked away. As the time passed, pain strangely became easier to bear, but staying awake was getting harder. Every time he blinked, the darkness compelled him to let go and just calmly dive into nothingness. After that, he had no more memories.

Natasha kept her fingers on his neck, feeling his pulse until the team arrived. His weak heartbeats were her last and only hope.

* * *

Natasha stopped at the entrance of the hospital as nurses gathered around him and a doctor came over. Knowing that he was in good hands and would be given the medical care he desperately needed, she took the time to finally breathe, calm her nerves and sort through her thoughts. Clint had been unconscious for a long time and she had his blood all over herself. She walked to the bathroom and stared at her shaking, terrified image in the mirror. Her hands trembled as she washed Clint's blood off.

She wasn't ready to lose him now, she'd never be. But she knew the day will come, one day or another, and no matter what Natasha wanted. She knew that when he dies, it would involve a sacrifice play, whether it was to save her or innocent people. And that's what she loved about him: he's selfless, sometimes too selfless. It upsets her that everyone believes he's no better than what she is. Clint was virtuous, unlike Ivan. Ivan would kill anyone for Natasha, but Clint would get himself killed for her. Clint's willingness to die for her was hard to accept, but that's what made her love him.

Natasha sat in the waiting room and managed to keep herself awake with multiple cups of coffee. People came and left, got up, sat, shouted and cried, but she just sat there in silence. She had told him once that hospital walls listened to honest prayers better than churches.

Time ticked by, but she remained in the same chair, head resting on her hands and elbows propped on her knees the entire time. Finally, a doctor came and led her to Clint's room. She entered the room and looked at him. A bandage on his forehead covered a long gash and his nose and mouth were slightly swollen and red. His eyes were getting a purplish color and the left side of his face was completely swollen. Clint's chest was full of bruises and wrapped with bandages as well. Seven broken ribs she read on the clipboard at the end of his bed. In addition to all that, his right leg was broken and plastered all way up to his knee.

Just as Natasha took a seat in the chair next to the bed she noticed the burns under Clint's eyes. It's from a burning cigar she immediately thought, knowing Ivan loved to do that. His wrists were also burnt from when he tried to free himself. Taking his hand in hers, she played with his fingers. Natasha was staring at a motionless, mute man. She couldn't believe that man was her partner. He was too quiet, too still, and much too cold. After a couple of hours, Clint awoke up. He blinked his eyes a few times to get his bearings. When he looked to his side and saw Natasha, he chose to look the other way.

They could have long conversations in absolute silence, and Natasha knew that Clint was mad at her.

* * *

******I know the ones who will comment will say that Natasha wouldn't act like this, but she's only human too and she's facing her past that she tried to forget about. Get yourself in her shoes...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you, my amazing readers. Though, I'm sorry to tell you that is the chapter before the last.**

**Enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

_After a couple of hours, Clint awoke up. He blinked his eyes a few times to get his bearings. When he looked to his side and saw Natasha, he chose to look the other way._

_They could have long conversations in absolute silence, and Natasha knew that Clint was mad at her._

"Why didn't you tell me?" Natasha asked, despite how he was trying his best to avoid her. Clint didn't say anything. "Why didn't you or Fury tell me that the mission was to kill Ivan?" she repeated. Natasha was frowning. Her teeth were clenched and pure rage consumed her whole body. Clint seemed stone deaf. He sat quietly in the bed, looking at the corner of the room. But Natasha was just as stubborn as him and pressed on. "Were you concerned that my judgments would be affected? I would have done the job perfectly fine if I had been warned in advance."

Clint held back a scoff. "You clearly seemed fine," he muttered in a husky voice.

Natasha let out a quick breath through her nose and got up quickly, causing her chair to fall. She leaned over and pressed her hand on Clint's bruised ribs, eyes shining like she was possessed by an evil force. She glared at him and spat hateful words in Russian. "Who do you think you are to judge me?"

Clint breathed heavily from the pressure on his ribs. "I'm your fucking partner," he growled, tightly gripping her wrist. Then added angrily, "now get your hands off me. You're hurting me."

Coming back to her senses, Natasha sighed loudly and backed up, not breaking eye contact with Clint. She picked up her chair and sat down again. The room lapsed into silence. The two were trying to understand what had just happen. Clint tried not to let on how much his ribs were hurting, but he was unsuccessful in faking it. Natasha slowly raised her hand towards his chest, causing Clint to flinch when the tips of her fingers touched the bandages of his chest.

Natasha retracted her hand and placed it back in her lap, focusing on the wall in front of her. Clint was deciphering her expression and could tell that she was falling apart.

"You froze," he started, "You've only done that twice, what happened?"

Natasha bit her lower lip and looked down at her lap, taking her time to come up with an explanation. The first time Clint had seen her freeze like that was many years ago when she was supposed to kill a child soldier. The girl was fourteen. Natasha's finger had been hovering over the trigger when she found herself unable to take the shot. Both she and Clint managed to have the girl's brain completely wiped out with the help of Coulson, the only other person who knew about it. The second time when Natasha failed was when she had to bargain for Clint's life in a hostage situation. Natasha had been completely paralyzed that time, giving the enemies a clear shot of Clint. She thought that the bullet had ripped through his heart and that he was dead. Obviously he did not die, but the bullet had penetrated very close to Clint's heart. Natasha still remembered it vividly, occasionally having nightmares about that night.

Not knowing what else to say, she replied, "I don't know what happen, alright?"

"That's exactly why no one told you a thing." Clint explained, turning his head towards her, "everyone was worried."

Natasha got angry at those words. "I was your damn back-up!" She yelled. "Look at you. You think that not telling me was a smart idea?"

"It seemed like it at the time. I'm a bit of a moron myself, you know."

Natasha ran her fingers through her hair and breathed heavily, walking from side to side in the room. "This all would have been different if I had been told. I would have been prepared."

"The moment you saw him I knew you couldn't bring yourself to kill him."

Clint waited for Natasha to look into his eyes and see the pain that his pride wouldn't allow him to verbalize. He couldn't figure out how to tell her that even though she had disappointed him, he understood what she was going through. Natasha was a walking bomb. One wrong word could make her explode.

"He has nothing on you, Tasha," he added quietly.

Natasha stopped to look at Clint. "Ivan raised me, gave me all the opportunities I've had-"

"Opportunities?" Clint interrupted, "he made a murderer out of you! He put guns and knives in your little hands when you were just a child!"

"If it wasn't for him, I most certainly wouldn't be here; I'd be dead." Her eyes glassed with tears that she forced back, but her voice was breaking as she continued speaking. "I'd be just another kid left somewhere, starving and freezing to death. I wouldn't even have the privilege of being buried."

A wave of uneasiness made it hard for Clint to draw his next breath. "But that was so long ago. You now have me. I-" Clint struggled when he tried to continue the sentence, but he managed to go on. "I needed you to help me. Why did you freeze?"

"I'm sorry. I never thought that my past would resurface and almost succeed in destroying my future." Natasha started backing towards the door. "I need some time," she told him. "To think...sort my thoughts."

Before she walked out the door, Clint's voice broke through the silence she had imposed, "ask one of the nurses to return the knife to you."

Still holding the doorknob, and without turning around, she asked, "you had it with you?"

"You gave it to me so I'd be protected. It was in my jacket. I told you that," he said, pausing quickly before he let his last word sink in her thoughts, "twice."

* * *

Natasha emptied bullet cartridges one after another. She didn't even blink as she fired and only took a breath once the gun had run out of bullets. The shooting target at SHIELD's shooting range was filled with holes. Natasha unleashed all the repressed anger and guilt she was feeling on the target as if it was to blame for how she was feeling. Natasha couldn't get rid of the feeling of her wounded pride. Upon remembering how Clint's attitude at the hospital had calmed so quickly, Natasha fired more shots into the target. She was angry that while she was busy waging wars on herself, Clint kept his cool and tried to stop her inner fights.

She was ready to throw her knife at the target when she heard the door open and close behind her.

"You messed up the mission." Fury's voice traveled to her ears.

"I know," Natasha growled, studying her own knife, "no need to remind me of that. Agent Dür died and my partner is at the hospital, battered."

"Do you feel capable of executing missions?"

Natasha pursed her lips and held her breath as she threw the knife, creating a hole in the head of the human shaped target. "I let my partner down, I'd like some time to firm my ground again."

"Your partner will need time to recover. In the meantime there's a mission in Kandahar I'd like you to do. You don't have to-"

"For how long?" She asked, turning to face him.

"Undefined. Until the mission's complete. Do you feel ready for it?"

"I was born ready," she said as she walked past him.

* * *

Natasha didn't feel quite well as she walked through the hospital halls. Her last mission had just happened half a day ago. It had been a complete mess and Clint was too hurt, but she didn't want to be around for a while. Like she told Fury, she needed her time to get her thoughts together. Opening Clint's room door silently, she found him quietly resting with his eyes closed. Again, she felt that heart grip she had felt before.

Acutely listening, Clint opened his eyes. Just his look, so caring and welcoming broke her. She walked in, not making a single sound. She stood at the end of his bed and started with a very low voice, "I'm going on a mission. I need to be away for a while. Fury said there is a mission in Kandahar and I'm going."

"You don't have to go, right?"

"I _need_ to go." Natasha couldn't stop her feet from walking to him. She caressed his face with her thumb as leaned in and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Take care of yourself and recover properly." Natasha couldn't resist in placing a kiss on his lips as well. "I want my partner just fine when I'm back."

Clint understood her choice. As she was starting to walk away, he grabbed her hand. "And when will you be back?" he asked.

She shrugged slightly and slowly pulled her hand back. "Take care, Clint."

"Don't get hurt, Tasha." Clint's voice came out like a sob.

* * *

**So, that was it. I like being a meanie. **

**I always feel like leaving a small thank you note to my beta reader for enduring me. Thanks xD**


	7. Chapter 7

**So sad that this is the last chapter. I hope you guys all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this.**

* * *

_Two and a half months later_

When Natasha said she needed time to think, she didn't exactly think that she'd end up tied to a chair being beaten day after day for two weeks. She had been captured in a moment of pure distraction, something that never happened. Natasha had been too lost in her thoughts and now she was tightly tied to a chair by her ankles and wrists with a strong chain. The fact that it was 115 degrees wasn't exactly helping either. Natasha found herselfgetting weaker as the days went by. Not physically weaker, but psychologically.

Rational thoughts were being replaced with memories and feelings. Natasha was clueless, sinking into an endless, depressing spiral. She had been trained with the harshest methods of resistance that one could ever imagine. No one could break into her mind unless she wanted them to, but right now, anyone could turn the Black Widow into their personal puppet and manipulate her frail emotions. She had discovered her own weaknesses. She knew she had weaknesses, but had never known what they were. Natasha's own identity was her weakness. She lacked the sense of family, the sense of home, the sense of love. That was the only thing she wanted to have; a place that she could claim as hers, someone she could say belonged to her.

_"Once upon a time, a pretty little girl and a boy made a promise, right under a big oak tree. They carved their initials onto the big tree trunk and promised to meet there every day for the rest of their lives. They sealed their agreement with three kisses. Oh, how beautifully foolish is children's love, don't you agree, Natalia?"_

Natasha shook her head at those thoughts. She knew what happened next. Her eyes glassed over with tears when she couldn't stop mulling over that memory. Ivan was telling her an apparent children's story as he stroked her face far too affectionately, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She was only nine-years-old at the time.

_"But then one day, not much longer after their promise, the boy didn't show up. What happened, you wonder?" Ivan asked as he caressed her arm, making the little girl shiver and suppress her tears at his touch. "What happened," he insisted, "you must ask me."_

_"What happened to the boy, Ivan?" Natalia asked slowly, her voice coming out as a sob. She looked down with tears swimming in her eyes, threatening to rush down her face._

_"The little boy, he died." Ivan cruelly said, though that wasn't news for Natalia. "He was stoned by other boys. The little girl cried when she found him. Idiotic thing to do, don't you think? Child-soldiers must always be the best. Are you the best, Natalia?"_

_"I try, Ivan. I really try."_

_"Trying isn't enough. You have to be the best. What are the main principles to never fail?"_

_Natalia filled her chest with air and met Ivan's cold gaze. "Never use half of our strength. Never flinch or hesitate. Never be sentimental." Taking dry breath, she added. "Love is for children, Ivan, and I won't be sentimental."_

_"Love is a debt, Natalia. Never forget it. People like you will never know love. The balance will always be uneven." Cupping her face with one hand, he ran a cold thumb over her small, frail lips, as he continued. "You can't take a life away and repay it with love later. You can only pay death with death and love with love, but if you can't be sentimental-"_

"Then I'll never love." Natasha voiced in a whisper. That had been the same answer she'd given Ivan years back.

Love is for children, love is a debt. Love is everything Natasha had never understood. Or so she thought. For the past two weeks while she had been tied up to that chair, only thoughts of patiently resisting and Clint, kepther strong. Having an enhanced immune system didn't mean she wouldn't feel the pain inflicted on her for fourteen days over and over again. Even though her cells regenerated themselves quickly and she was strong enough to endure the torture, Natasha wanted out. She wanted the sense of home again, she needed Clint's warm embrace and most importantly, she desperately needed to be free, to get her feet back on the ground and fight. She was feeling useless.

As usual, Natasha had tried to free herself, twice, but the location of the house she was being kept in couldn't have been better. It was nothing but four white erect walls, an earthy floor below her feet and two cavities that were supposed to be windows covered with wooden slats. The sun rays penetrated through the gaps, some air too, but mostly the sound of life outside. Her prison was located in the middle of a major trading center outdoor market. Every six hours the marketers changed the arrangement of their stalls, making the paths vary immensely. The two times Natasha had freed herself, she had run out the door, trying to figure it out a way to reach Camp Rhino, which was over 100 miles from where she was standing. She never did it, though. Half way through her run she'd felt a small dart hitting the back of her neck and soon her body would numb and she'd collapse from the drugs. Once she opened her eyes, she was in the house again, tied to the chair.

* * *

Clint knew that his plan was the most simple and probably the most idiotic one ever. But it was his plan; he was counting on himself to make it work.

After Natasha's deployment on her mission, Clint had monitored her while recovering back in New York. Once SHIELD stopped getting feedback from her, he got worried and had begun working on a rescue plan. He realized that if the marketers rearranged the paths, then Natasha wasn't in the right place. The information that was given to her at the beginning of the mission wasn't accurate anymore; she was in trouble.

"Natasha Romanoff," he simply said to each marketer he found on the marketplace. "I need to find her."

It didn't take long for his head to be covered with a sac and pushed along a determined path. Clint memorized the whole path and tried to absorb as many sounds and odors as he could. The marketers would rearrange the stalls in 20 minutes, so he had to be fast. After the sac was taken off his head, he let out a relieved sigh, his lungs getting enough oxygen again. One of the men that had escorted him said something in Afghan to the other and left. Clint was alone with only one man. With two swift moves, Clint had twisted the man's neck. As his eyes scanned the small room, he immediately found Natasha. Her clothes were dusty, her hair completely greasy and messed up with sweat dripping down her forehead, falling onto her lap. Her head was hanging and her breathing was heavy.

Natasha's gaze changed completely once she sensed someone squatting in front of her. The weariness in her eyes disappeared once she saw him. Clint smiled as she breath quickened, waiting him to take the gag off her mouth. Her cracked and dried lips parted as she tried to speak, but she didn't have a chance to do so. Clint's lips were on hers in a second. She leaned in and deepened the quick kiss they shared.

"I didn't mess up this mission," she spoke, out of breath.

"I know," Clint reassured her as he untied her. "Everyone knows that."

Once Natasha was free, she allowed herself to hug Clint. The lingering taste of him in her mouth and his scent were still the same. As was his warmth and embrace.

"I got you, Tasha." Clint let out a relieved sigh, appreciating the fact that she still fit perfectly with him, that he could still dig his fingers into her red curls and feel her heart thumping avidly in her chest. "I got you."

"Can you walk?" He asked her as he immediately wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her get on her feet.

"Yes," she told him. "They are pretty weak at beatings."

"We have to be fast. The marketers are going to change everything in less than twenty minutes."

"I know. Why do you think I was still stuck in there?" Natasha bent down and snatched the gun that the dead man was still holding on to.

Natasha frowned once the hot, bright sun hit her face. Clint was holding her tightly against his body, forcing her to keep up with his pace. As odd as it appeared, Natasha seemed to recover a little as the minutes went by.

"How's your leg?" She asked him, noticing his slight limp.

"It could be better," Clint said, acknowledging the pain in his leg. "I'll have to get knee replacement surgery. I think the doc said that the kneecap was a bit shredded or something."

"Maybe we could go Iowa during your recovery time. You always wanted to show me where you grew up."

"You really think Fury will give you some time off too?"

"He has to. As far as I know, I messed up a mission." She said as a joke.

Clint chuckled. "I never imagined the Black Widow wanting some time off."

Natasha smiled as she told him with no shyness, "The Black Widow doesn't want time off, Natasha does."

* * *

Right in the middle of an abandoned and deserted area where there was nothing but sand hills was a SHIELD aircraft. Five agents were carrying palettes of isotope-8, which were Natasha's mission to retrieve. It was a hunt and retrieve mission; Natasha would have to kill the ones that were attempting to sell the iso-8 in the black market and return them safely to SHIELD.

She saw Coulson from afar in his black tuxedo and sunglasses as always, commanding the five men. Natasha realized Clint wasn't alone in the rescue mission. A very familiar voice shouted while they were walking to the aircraft.

"Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!"

"He insisted on coming along," Clint explained as Fury pulled out his gun and started shooting around to kill the snakes. "I have a limp and Coulson is leading a squad of five agents."

The agents that were busy with the loading of the sensitive material showed a little smile when they saw Natasha safe and sound. Clint sat her on the cargo bay and went to look for a first-aid kit to clean her very few and superficial bruises.

"The things your partner makes us do," Coulson spoke as he approached Natasha. "You should reward him. And me too. Have I ever told you that I love shellfish?"

"Yeah, you did."

That was why Natasha loved being at SHIELD. Everybody cared about everyone without being too concerned, and they always kept a light mood. "Great," Coulson said as he went to give orders to his squad, "because I'm waiting for you to buy me dinner someday."

Clint came over with a first-aid kit and sat down in front of her. With extreme care he disinfected the few scratches she had on her hands and face. Natasha gazed at him affectionately, tears pricking in her eyes and a smile plastered on her face. Clint, who had been focused on cleaning her palms, raised his eyes and held her face with one hand, cleaning the other cheek. Natasha closed her eyes from the touch of his warm hands. Clint could make her shiver with just one touch, but unlike Ivan, she loved that feeling. His fingers were warm, brushing her lips, and his gaze was caring. Natasha took his hand in hers and kissed his palm. Her hand soon ran up his arm and her eyes held a desiring gaze, wanting to get lost in him for the moment.

Clint tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Opening his mouth to speak, his voice came out in a sob as he barely managed to swallow his tears, "I'm so glad you're alright. You have no idea, Tasha."

"Actually, I do." Natasha placed her hand on top of his, which was cupping her face. "It's good to be back."

Fury loud steps interrupted their moment. "Agent Barton, when is the surgery?"

"In two days, Sir."

"And how long is the recovering time?"

"Six weeks."

"Agent Romanoff," Fury said looking at Natasha who promptly raised her look to him, "make sure Agent Barton recovers properly this time. I want you two to report back to work in six weeks. Within that time, I don't even want to see your shadow."

"Yes, Sir." The two answered in unison, exchanging a knowing look.

* * *

The light of the setting sun warmed her skin. Lying on a soft layer of green grass, the wind played with Natasha's red curls. While her eyes were closed, Clint's were wide open, staring at the sky brushed in pink and purplish tones. The aura of the setting sun was a bright yellow color and tattered grayish clouds moved in the sky. The only sound that could be heard was the wind lightly blowing the tree leaves.

In moments like this, sitting at the porch of the house, Clint would forget about everything else and focus on her. It seemed unreal to say so, but she was so naïve and pure. Natasha was always fond by the slightest of the breezes, the warmth of the sun, the rain that falls on the window pane, the sea waves and the realization that she was loved. She had never acknowledged ordinary love, the simplest act of loving something just for the sake of loving it. Clint made it his duty to be her refuge, the only person she could count on to feel free and normal whenever she wanted.

In moments like this, Natasha would let her guard down. She'd let herself surrender to the little everyday things, and mostly she dedicated all her attention to the man that has never let her down. He was the only one who saw more of her than she ever let on. He loved everything about her and that gave her hope every day. Hope that she wasn't that broken, that she could be fixed. Hope that she could love.

Leaving his crutches behind, Clint limped to reach to her. He lay on top of her and they kissed. In moments like this, there was no Hawkeye or Black Widow, no murders or life-threatening missions. Just Clint and Natasha, a man and woman who love each other, but have never said it to each other. Still, they were fine with that. Their love is the true definition of do or die. They'd rather kill each other to have to sleep with someone else.

Words were unnecessary and would never be enough to verbalize what they felt for one another. They were fine with what they were and what they had. It was the only thing they would never change.

* * *

**There will never be enough words to describe the amazing work done my beta reader, Gaga4Jeyna. Thanks! **


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